


Incaensor

by dragonifyoudare



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/M, KotOR references, Old Republic Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, but lightsabers!, kind of its own timeline, mabari droids, mages as Jedi, smuggler Isabela, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Jedi Knight Yana Hawke left everything behind, including her name and the Order that betrayed her. The cold war between the Sith and the Republic can sort itself out without her help, as far as she’s concerned -- at least until a living Sith weapon falls into her lap, bringing unwelcome reminders of her past and a threat to the galaxy that not even she can ignore.</p><p>Dragon Age II fusion with Old Republic-ish Star Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incaensor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Quinzelade (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinzelade) and rannadylin (http://rannadylin.tumblr.com/) for their comments and suggestions!

_Gallows Station, the Outer Rim_

Yana had a bad feeling about this. Not just the crate sitting in front of her, but the woman trying to sell it, too.

The crate was made to look like a normal cargo container, but it was thick plasteel with reinforced joints and had, under the standard latch, a particularly tricky looking codelock. Isabela was doing a much better job of looking normal than the crate. Well, normal for Isabela. Dressed in a thigh high boots, a short sleeved white tunic, and little else aside from the antique slugthrower on one hip and the blaster on the other, she wasn’t exactly unobtrusive or average-looking. She was, however, doing her best to hide her nervousness.  Isabela had hesitated a split second before leaning against it casually, Yana had noticed, and she hadn’t thumped it for emphasis once.

Around Yana, Isabela’s crew were carrying other crates down the ramp toward a waiting cluster of Gamorrean mercenaries. It was probably all weapons. Isabela wasn’t watching them at all, though. She was here to deal with this one piece of cargo, not to supervise unloading. The whole thing had Yana on edge.

“Just take a look,” said Isabela a little too nonchalantly. “I’ve got a couple other potential buyers for a mystery box like this, but I thought I’d offer it to you first, for old times’ sake. A lock like that means it’s bound to be valuable.”

 _That’s a lie if I ever heard one,_ thought Yana, but she crouched down next to the crate nonetheless, examining it more closely. She was curious in spite of herself.

There was something under the orange paint on the crate,a slight bump where a decal had been applied. Yana pulled out the vibroknife at her belt and, leaving the blade deactivated so that it functioned as a simple knife, scratched at the paint.

“Careful with the merchandise,” said Isabela.

“I’m not hurting it,” muttered Yana. “I just want to --” Yana froze.

“Yana?”

“Holy kriffing _hells,_ Isabela,” said Yana in a strained whisper. It was an effort not to yell. “Do you know what this is?” She pointed at the symbol she’d exposed, the knife trembling in her hand.

Isabela knelt down next to her.

“No idea,” she said. Yana gave her a turbolaser glare until she relented. “Fine. It looks Sith, though I couldn’t for the life of me say what it means.”

“It means there’s no fracking way I’m buying this, Isabela. Space the damn thing. Vaporize it.”

“What is it?”

“Weapons,” said Yana.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” said Isabela.

“I don’t know exactly, but --”

“I’m not spacing valuable cargo on ‘I don’t know!’” hissed Isabela. Yana recoiled, shocked at the venom in the woman’s voice. Isabela glanced behind Yana, then continued more quietly. “Look, _Captain Ebon,_ my last job was a bust. A huge, expensive bust. If I can sell the salvage we picked up from what was left of our target, the _Siren’s Call_ might keep flying. If not…” She sighed. “I’m sorry Yana, but I can’t afford not to sell this, and I need to do it quickly. So tell me yes or say no and go, but don’t waste my time.”

Yana thought quickly. ‘Weapons,’ she had said, like this was a shipment of blasters or explosives. But no, that symbol meant whatever was in that crate was on another level entirely. It was experimental, dangerous and, hence,  valuable. She couldn’t let it fall into the hands of any of the criminal factions that competed for territory in this section of the outer rim. It had to be destroyed.

 _Or turned over to the Republic,_ part of her whispered. She pushed it down ruthlessly. There was no chance of her dealing with the Republic again. Ever. But she couldn’t just let Isabela sell this. She glared at the other woman, putting all of her fear and frustration and, yes, anger into it.

“Half price,” said Yana.

“Done,” said Isabela.

As they shook on it, Yana took a moment to wonder what had Isabela so eager to deal. Mostly, though, she was wondering how far she needed to get from Gallows before she introduced her new cargo to oblivion. 

* * *

 

The first thing Yana did on returning to her own ship, the _Champion_ , was get herself a drink. After that, she ran systems checks. She fixed the broken servo in the door to her cabin. She cleaned the gunk out of her MBR1 droid Blue’s dataport. She did anything but deal with that crate, and she kept drinking while she did it. By the time she had run out of trivial tasks to distract herself with, she was getting fairly tipsy. She swayed her way into the cargo bay, staring the crate down like it was a particularly stubborn port official. It sat there. Yana took another swig of her cheap  beer. The crate sat there. She tapped her foot against it cautiously. It sat there. She kicked it, yelped in pain, and dropped the beer bottle.

“Kriff.” The bottle had shattered. What kind of cheap-ass distillery used _glass?_ Yana glared at the crate again. Stupid thing. She should have been rid of it by now. Why wasn’t she?

 _Oh, right. Tispy. Piloting under the influence is bad._ She sighed and sat down on the crate, fiddling with the outer latch. The lights of the codelock underneath blinked up at her. She blinked down at them, reached for the beer bottle, remembered it was gone and groaned. Well, it had been bad beer, anyway, and piss-water weak at that.

The feeling hit her suddenly: _This is important._ Yana’s hand froze on the latch.

It had been five years since Malvana. Since then, there had been glimmers, hints of what might have been more than mundane instinct, but this… all at once,  she could _feel_ it again: the Force, flowing through her.

_This is important. This is a shatterpoint. This is a hinge._

Yana realized she was shaking. She knew, with every bone in her being, whatever was in there _mattered._ It might be good. It might be bad. But it _mattered_. She reached for more, struggling to find her bearings in the overwhelming feeling of awareness that rushed in at her like light after years of blindness.

The connection snapped. She was in the dark once more.

The severing wasn’t so painful as it had been the first time, but it was bad. Yana shook, drawing her knees up to her chest and curling into a ball. For just a moment…

 _Damn it!_ How dare the gods… the Force… the damned universe… How dare they taunt her like this?

When the shaking stopped, she called Blue.

“Open it,” she said, jumping down off the crate. Danger be damned, she wanted to know what was doing this to her.

It took Blue nearly an hour to crack the codelock, during which Yana took a cold shower, got a ration bar in her stomach to soak up at least some of the alcohol and took a quick nap to clear her head. When she woke, she vacuumed up the glass shards and the small puddle of whiskey. She’d never seen a code that could stump a MBR1 for so long.

 _That’s what happens when you don’t get the software updates,_ she thought. Of course, it could also be a unique code, rather than a derivative of one of the Sith cyphers Blue had in his databases. She pushed that thought and its implications for what might be in the crate away.

At last, the codelock gave an anticlimactic chirp. Blue rolled back, his own electronic babble urging caution.

“I’ll be fine,” she told the droid. “I always am.”

Blue let out a series of grumbling noises and extended an arc welding torch from one of the compartments on his side. Yana already had a hand on the grip of her blaster pistol.

The grip’s texture, slightly rough with horizontal ridges, was similar to that of the lightsaber she had once carried. She’d chosen the gun for that frivolous reason, five years ago. Later, she’d thrown it into a disposal shoot for the same reason. She hadn’t thought about it for years now, in any way related to her lightsaber. It was her gun, and it was what she had now.

She hit the release button and, with a grunt, flipped up the lid of the crate.

Inside, frozen in carbonite and curled into a fetal position, was an elf.

**Author's Note:**

> According to the DA wiki, incaensor means "a dangerous substance, such as raw lyrium or natron salts. It is often used as derogatory slang for a magic-using slave—something dangerous but useful if controlled."


End file.
